


Harbor

by annundriel



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, bookshop au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-23
Updated: 2015-08-23
Packaged: 2018-04-16 17:32:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4634043
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/annundriel/pseuds/annundriel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On vacation at the beach, Dorian discovers one of the Bull's phobias.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Harbor

**Author's Note:**

> A future interlude in my alternate universe where Bull owns a bookshop. Original ficlet can be read [here](http://annundriel.tumblr.com/post/121136432512/hands-on-his-hips-dorian-stares-at-the-top-shelf).

Dorian finds the Bull in the living room in front of one of the bay windows, one of the throw blankets--the dusty rose one, Bull's favorite—pulled tight around his shoulders. Outside lightning flashes, and even from across the room, Dorian can see the Bull flinch.

There's something about it that makes Dorian feel incredibly warm and fond. Feelings that are becoming familiar when he looks at Bull, but that are still new enough to surprise him.

"Okay there, big guy?" he asks, stepping from the cool hardwood and into the area rug that spans the majority of the living room floor. It's thick and soft beneath his feet, and Dorian digs his toes into it a little as he crosses the distance to the Bull.

The Bull looks at him over his shoulder, and the frown there—intense, as stormy as the day outside—would concern Dorian on its own, but then thunder rumbles overhead and the Bull's eyes squeeze shut and oh, oh—

"Maker's balls, you're afraid of thunder!" He doesn't mean to laugh, he really doesn't, and when the Bull glowers at him Dorian feels genuinely bad about it. "Sorry," he says, closing the remaining distance between them and pressing his hand to the Bull's shoulder. "Sorry, Bull, I just. It's a little unexpected, that's all."

The Bull shrugs beneath his palm, and goes back to staring at the storm tossed sea. The waves are gray and high, foaming in the rain and the wind. The deck on the other side of the window groans a little, and the windsocks hanging from the roof wipe around in a frenzy.

It looks cold and beyond unpleasant, and Dorian honestly can't blame the Bull for looking miserable.

"There used to be storms," the Bull says after a moment. "When I was a kid. They'd go on for hours at home, the wind howling. I always thought..." He trails off, and Dorian waits, patient, turns his head to press a kiss against Bull's blanketed shoulder. "I was always afraid we'd blow away. Or get struck by lightning. Or—It's dumb. It's a childish fear, I know. I need to—"

Dorian's staring, he knows he is, but he's never seen the Bull look so...so...vulnerable. In the time he's known him, the time they've been together, he's seen him happy and annoyed, sad and ecstatic. He's seen him soft with sleep in the morning and focused with intent at night (and in the afternoon and in the morning and...) his eye bright and hot on Dorian's skin. But this? This is new.

"No," he says, interrupting the Bull, leaning into him. "No, it's—Let's get you away from the windows." He tugs at the Bull's elbow, steering him away from the gray sky and the gray sea, the lightning and the roll of thunder. He pulls the Bull to the couch with its overstuffed cushions and cream upholstery. Presses him down against it.

He only looks miserable and, somehow, smaller.

Dorian wants to press his hands to either side of the Bull's face, to take that frown between his palms and kiss it away. There's nothing stopping him, no reason he can't, and so he does. Crowding in front of the Bull, making a spot for himself— _the_ spot, really—between his thighs, Dorian takes his face between his hands, tips it upward. The wind shakes the porch frame and the wind chimes jangle and the Bull frowns up at him like the world is ending and Dorian's heart is no longer his own. He leans in, slow and careful, and kisses the Bull's furrowed brow, presses his lips to each wrinkled eyebrow. He lingers there, breathing in the smell of Bull's skin--the salt that seems to permeate everything, the soap they've taken to sharing, _Bull_ underneath—and basking in the warmth he always seems to radiate.

From his brow, Dorian moves downward, pressing dry kisses to each cheek, the end of his nose. Follows the line of the Bull's jaw to his chin and, finally, his mouth.

"Dorian," the Bull says, soft as a breath. His hands on Dorian's hips are warm even through the layers of his clothing. "What are you doing?"

"Isn't that obvious?" He presses a kiss to the corner of the Bull's mouth, nuzzles at him. "I'm distracting you."

The Bull's breath huffs against him, warm in the storm-cool air of the house. On Dorian's hips, his fingers flex. "Oh? Is that what this is?"

Outside, lightning flashes. The Bull barely flinches this time, but his eye drifts away, his head turning against Dorian's hands.

"Clearly not well enough," Dorian murmurs, to himself or the Bull he isn't sure. He takes Bull's mouth then, tilts his head just so and fits them together, pieces of different puzzles that somehow still fit. The Bull's grip tightens and he sighs, opens to Dorian. Meets his tongue at the border, greeting him, letting him in.

When thunder rumbles overheard, the Bull's fingers twitch, and Dorian thinks, _Ah, yes, progress_.

He pulls away, the space between them minuscule. Their breath mingles, and Dorian touches their foreheads together, his heart pounding in his chest. "I'd be better able to distract you upstairs," he says. "Where there's the bed, and supplies."

The Bull's breath catches, and Dorian will never be over that. Never be over the way he affects the Bull. He'd been embarrassed by his own want at first, the sudden intense desire for Bull and the...everything he was. He'd never expected for Bull to reach for him repeatedly after that first date, searching Dorian out again and again. But here they are, on their first proper vacation together, and the Bull looks at him like he has the best ideas, like he hung the world, and Dorian loves that. He loves it, and he's terrified of it, but he thinks that's good, right? It means he's scared to lose this, and if he's scared to lose it, well.

"Bed is good," the Bull says, nodding against him. Then he's standing, blanket falling away, and his hands are strong and firm and the floor is suddenly gone from beneath Dorian's feet.

They haven't done this before, though Dorian's thought about it. About the span of Bull's hands holding him high and steady against him. He clings to the Bull, arms around his shoulders, hands at his neck. His legs rising to slip easily around his hips. Maker, he wants the Bull to fuck him like this; back against a wall, free standing in the middle of the room, Dorian doesn't care. To know that it's the Bull supporting him, keeping him in place, that it's his hands and arms and hips and cock is all Dorian wants. It's all he needs.

The Bull carries him to the stairs then—carefully—up them. He pauses at the landing when thunders crashes above, his eye wild, and Dorian takes his cue, surges against him. Kisses him until the focus is here, inside, between them. Nothing else matters.

When he pulls back, the Bull looks at him with something like gratitude, like wonder, and Dorian can't help but thank whatever it was that put that book in the Bull's shop, that lead him there, them _here_. 

"What?" he asks.

The Bull smiles, the corners of his mouth lifting, gentle slopes Dorian longs to explore over and over. "Nothing, kadan," the Bull says, but it doesn't sound like nothing. In fact, it sounds like the exact opposite, and Dorian's pulse picks up a notch and he wants to ask what the second word means, he does, but he's not sure he's ready to hear it, not out loud.

So instead he smiles back, kisses those curving lips, reaches up to tug at the Bull's horns. "Come on, then," he says. "Let's get you naked." He leans on, lets the next words brush and curl in Bull's ear. "I'm going to ride you."

The hands on his ass flex and squeeze, the Bull groaning, and Dorian feels alight.

Rain beats on the windows of the bedroom, but Dorian barely notices, hopes the Bull doesn't notice at all. Makes sure that as he steers him to the bed, the Bull doesn't have the chance to look, kissing him to keep his focus, grinding down against his dick. _Maker_ , but he wants it, wants to strip the Bull and press him down and take his cock in his hands, his mouth. Kneel above him and lower himself until all he can feel is the Bull. Until all the Bull can feel is him.

The Bull lowers them, carefully, to the bed, sitting so that Dorian is in his lap. It's the perfect position save for the clothing, and Dorian regrets not stripping first. He shifts his hips, their cocks brushing, and the Bull pulls away with a grunt, hands slipping beneath Dorian's shirt. He pushes it up and off with a grin.

"Gonna ride me, huh? Is that how we're doing this?"

A swivel of hips and Bull's eyes roll back slightly. Dorian laughs, breathless. "Yes," he says. "Yes. That's exactly how we're doing this."

The Bull's hips hitch. He licks his lips and grins. "Who am I to argue with a man who knows what he wants?" he asks, and then he reaches for his own shirt, pulls it off, and Dorian is presented with the bare expanse of his chest, his nipples already hard in the cool air. With a sigh, Dorian bends to lap at one, to take it between his lips and suck until the Bull's hands are in his hair, stroking and pulling.

"Fuck, Dorian," he groans. "Your _mouth_. I knew your mouth would be good. I _knew_ it. The moment I met you, I—fuck!"

Dorian pulls back with a smirk, slipping out of the Bull's lap to stand in front of him, fingers playing against the bulge of his cock beneath his shorts before moving up to the fastening. "You were saying?"

The Bull stares at the bulge, licks his lips. "Doesn't matter. Your mouth, my cock, something something, wanted you to suck my dick." His eye flits upward. "I'd rather suck yours."

"A tempting offer." A very tempting offer. "I'll take you up on that later, I think. Sit on your chest, fuck your face. You'd like that wouldn't you? Like me to feed you my cock inch by inch."

The Bull swears under his breath, presses the heel of his hand against himself. "Dorian," he says. "If you don't want me to just pin you to the floor, you're going to have to get over here soon."

Dorian laughs, and lightning flashes outside. The Bull flinches, gaze slipping past, but Dorian steps forward, doing his best to fill his view. "You want either of those things," he says, "you're going to have to get naked first."

Thunder rumbles, and the Bull gapes at him. "I—"

"Hey," Dorian says. "Hey." He steps between his knees, presses his hands to the Bull's face. Kisses his forehead, the corner of his mouth. His mouth. "Here, focus here. On me. Can you do that?"

A blink, another, and the Bull nods. "Yeah." He swallows hard. "Yeah. Especially if you keep doing what you were doing."

Smiling, Dorian kisses him again, tongue slipping against the Bull's own. "Good," he says when he pulls away. "Then get your pants off."

He does—he's good at following orders when it suits him—and when Dorian turns around sans his own pants, the Bull is propped up on the pillows, cock curving thick and hard. It makes Dorian's mouth water, but that will have to wait. Later, later when the wind has died down and the storm has passed, with all is right with the world once again, he will take the Bull between his lips, worship him with his tongue. Swallow him down as the Bull mutters his name above, _Dorian Dorian Dorian_ , big hands holding him down. Now, though, Dorian is on a set course, and he steps across the floor to meet it, pausing only to get the lube from the nightstand before positioning himself astride the Bull's thighs.

The Bull's hands are on his hips in a blink, wide and rough, warm in the cool air. Dorian shivers at their touch, shudders when one slips from his hip to wrap around his cock.

"Is this for me?" the Bull asks, and it should make Dorian rolls his eyes, shift into that grip with a smart remark. Except the Bull's voice when he asks is low, hushed, jagged at the edges. It wears some of Dorian's snark down, and Dorian nods, biting his lip, and opens the lube, pours some on his fingers.

"Watch," he says, and then he lifts up on his knees. Reaches behind with slick, questing fingers that find their mark easily. He starts with one, the lube cool but warming. Doesn't take the time to tease himself, but works himself open. One then two.

Dorian could come from this alone; the Bull's gaze locked on him, the Bull's hand on his cock, his own fingers in his ass.

One then two, two then three.

He bites his lip on the third, eyelashes fluttering. Wants badly to feel the Bull inside him, wants badly to--

"Fuck," he breathes, moving slowly on his fingers, rising, falling. Lightning flashes somewhere, but the Bull's gaze doesn't leave him. He watches, intent, and Dorian feels the weight of it across his skin, his blood running hot. He needs this as much as Bull does. 

The Bull's hand disappears from Dorian, and in the quiet of the room Dorian hears the lube open again. Opening his eyes, he looks down to see the Bull touching himself, slicking his cock. He reaches for Dorian with fingers shining.

"Come here," he says. "Dorian, come here."

Dorian goes easily, removing his fingers, moving closer, and then the head of Bull's cock brushes his ass and Dorian shifts and— _fuck_ , he thinks. _Fuck. Maker be praised_.

They could be anywhere. Everything disappears but the Bull's hands, the ten points of his fingers, the shift of muscles in his thighs, the catch of breath in his chest, his cock. There is nothing left but this and them, the air warmed and mingling between them, sweat building and collecting. Their bodies rock together, and they breath each other's names. The Bull's hand moves from Dorian's hip to his side, his chest. Detours at a nipple. Continues upward to the curve of his neck. He tugs, and Dorian shifts, changes the angle of entry, leans forward and kisses the Bull with all he has left, the commingling of bodies a Möbius strip of pleasure.

"Dorian," the Bull groans as he grinds down against him. " _Kadan_. Please, I—"

Dorian bites his bottom lip, a quick nip of teeth that makes the Bull's hips stutter. "You don't have to ask for permission here, amatus. Come, if you like, as long as it's for me."

Nodding, the Bull's hands find his hips again, halting Dorian's movements, holding him steady as the Bull shifts beneath him, bracing his heels and then, oh, then...

The Bull takes control so easily, hips powering into Dorian, each thrust hitting him just there, just _right_ , until Dorian feels his orgasm come up behind him like a thief in the night, overtaking him as the Bull comes—loudly—beneath him.

Dorian's not sure how long he lies with his head pillowed against the Bull's chest, Bull's big hands stroking his back. He could stay like this forever if it weren't for the ache developing in his hips, his splayed thighs. The disconcerting feels of the Bull's come slipping out of him (though that gives him a thought or two). Eventually, he yawns and the Bull chuckles, the sound rumbling through him.

"Wore yourself out, huh?"

Propping himself up on the Bull's chest, Dorian blinks at him. "Distracted you, didn't I?"

The Bull's smile is soft and warm and, no, who cares about the aches when Dorian can stay here, like this, as long as he wants.

"You did, kadan," the Bull says. "You did."


End file.
